


Silence Radio

by RubyBelle



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:03:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5343413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyBelle/pseuds/RubyBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn and Hunter get beat up, drink beer, make mistakes. The usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence Radio

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  After a nondescript fight from '97, probably. I haven't written a porn fic in years.

The match ripped them to shreds. Hunter's limbs feel like they're made out of stone, each step like a jail sentence, hell, even breathing feels like being hit by a truck. They may have won, but he and Shawn just barely managed to walk out of there without depending on each other entirely.

By the time they finally make it into the showers, neither of them can stand anymore, so they sit under the hot spray, still in their ring gear, watching the blood and sweat run down the drain. Shawn lets out a chuckle, a rumble deep in his throat, prompting Hunter to look up at him, eyes only just focusing.

"We're a sorry bunch, aren't we."

Hunter considers the pros and cons of expending the effort to shrug. "Can't remember the last time it hurt like this."

Shawn's smile is comforting. "When we've got feelin' back in our legs, we should find a bar."

There's still enough strength in Hunter to nod, which makes Shawn give that chuckle again.

Hunter isn't good at telling how much time passes anyway, so he doesn't know if it was 5 or 20 minutes later when Shawn staggers to his feet and turns off the shower. He holds out a hand for Hunter to take, who is once again surprised by the strength of Shawn when he drags up to his feet easily.

Shawn pats him on the back, gives him those small circular rubs. Hunter nods again, and they stumble out to the locker room.

There's no one left to bother them when they get out, so the trip to the medic is quick and efficient. Shawn gets 8 stitches for his busted head, but Hunter gets 29 for his numerous cuts all over his upper body. The medic scolds him, threatens to report to Vince, but all Hunter's dazed mind keeps coming back to is his relief that it ended up this way, and not the other way around.

Hunter offers to drive, but Shawn declares him to be in no position to make the short trip, and grabs the keys out of his hand. Hunter really _isn't_ in any position to drive, so he doesn't complain, and instead spends the entire time with the passenger seat reclined, eyes closed, listening to Shawn hum softly along with the radio.

The hotel is a nice one, which is surprising since Hunter has gotten used to motels and 1-or-less star lodging establishments. Shawn seems entirely at home, holding Hunter's waist while he checks them in and his hand while they find their way to the room.

Hunter, the pack mule, instantly drops all the bags as soon as the door to their room opens, walks over to the first of the twin beds, and falls face first into the mattress. He can hear Shawn locking the door, walking across the soft carpet, turning on the lamp on the nightstand, opening up the mini fridge, and begin rummaging.

Hunter pulls himself up, slides off the corner of the bed and sits on the floor, head leaning against the mattress edge. The aching has gone down some since the match, so he doesn't feel like dying with every muscle twitch, but the exhaustion is still all-encompassing.

Shawn pulls out four beers from the mini fridge, and considers taking out a fifth while speaking, "You're pretty sleepy, right? Maybe you shouldn't drink tonight."

"Nah, no, it's — it's alright." Shawn's sitting cross legged on the floor, reading through the mini bottles of hard liquor. Hunter thinks that he doesn't want to wake up to Shawn surrounded by them. "I can still drink a beer or two."

Shawn's reply is a wide smile, but his eyes betray his exhaustion. It probably won't take much to get him over the limit, Hunter thinks, which is probably best for the both of them.

Easily, Shawn gets up from the ground, beers in hand, and plops himself on the bed, looking for the remote to the TV. Hunter can't comprehend how Shawn can still move with such ease, like he hadn't been in the same match as him, fighting tooth and nail for the moment the ref raised their hands in the air and declared them the winners. But Shawn has always been like this, Hunter knows that. From the start, before they even met, Shawn was always giving more than he had, to get more than anyone thought, practically putting his life on the line while still entertaining the entire crowd.

Hunter gets up from his collapsed position and reclines on the bed, feeling every muscle relax and sink into the high-grade fabric. He doesn't remember the last time he slept in a bed this nice — ever since becoming a wrestler, he's had to make do with dirt, bugs, and paltry paychecks. The TV turns on, and Shawn flips through the channels, trying to find something that isn't an infomercial.

Shawn drops two of the cans on Hunter's chest, who obediently opens one, drinking almost half of it in one go. "Gotta get drunk enough that we don't feel the pain," Shawn chuckles, and he puts down the remote after finding a bland newscast.

Hunter just nods, not really knowing what to say. Shawn leans back, opening his own beer, his entire arm pressed up against Hunter's, completely relaxed.

They don't speak for a while, they just drink and lie together. There's a comfort there, one that Hunter is grateful for, a consistent repose between the two of them. They haven't been friends for long, and they've been in a stable for even less, but their bond is stronger than anything Hunter's ever had before, and he wonders if Shawn feels the same way. He's been in many more groups and Hunter knows that his prerequisites to establish a meaningful relationship are much higher than Hunter anticipated. Sometimes he wishes he could just make Shawn love him.

He grits his teeth, feeling the pain from his wounds. Love was a heavy word, not one that he had meant to use. But he's too exhausted to find another, so he finishes off his can and opens the next one.

Shawn laughs, "How's it goin'?"

"Could be better," Hunter says after a while. "How's your cut?"

Shawn presses a hand against the bandage along his hairline, and Hunter can tell that it either doesn't hurt yet or it's stopped hurting. "I've had worse."

"Helluva match," the words feel like they were fixed, adjusted on the way out of Hunter's throat. There's a knot in his chest, a bundle of wires and words, keeping him from speaking properly. "These beers aren't workin' quick enough."

"They've got a six pack in there, you want another?"

"'S alright."

Shawn doesn't look at him, but he smiles anyway, and Hunter wonders what would happen if he wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Shawn was the physically affectionate type, breaking the No Contact zone within the first week, always leaving hands on shoulders longer than expecting, free with where his lips land. He probably wouldn't think a thing of Hunter pulling him in for a hug, as he did sometimes during matches, but this was a different situation. In a hotel room, at night, with beers in hand, and Hunter didn't let himself be known as the kind of guy who gave a lot of physical attention.

Shawn's on his second can too, and Hunter can tell by his entire demeanor. He's relaxed more, and his head drops onto Hunter's chest.

"Didn' think I was gonna get busted the hard way," Shawn says, a hundred factors slurring his speech ever so slightly. "Would've prepared myself, y'know?"

Hunter lets out a "yeah", but it sounds noncommittal and distant.

Shawn drapes his arm across Hunter's torso, casually, like it was normal, like he wanted to. Hunter focuses intently on the newscaster, speaking about — whatever. Shawn's just a physically affectionate person, Hunter reminds himself.

"Glad we got to go in together, though," Shawn keeps speaking, so Hunter keeps listening. "Haven't had a lotta tag team matches. You gotta get yourself a belt, H, gotta be equals."

"I'm tryin'," he has to laugh when he responds. "It's hard as fuck."

Shawn has completely relaxed, and when Hunter finally wraps his arm around his shoulders, the only movement he makes is a small one, to fall more into place against his teammate.

"I've got high hopes for you, y'know. Wanna see where you'll be in a decade." While Shawn speaks, he rubs up against him, nuzzling into his shoulder, and he lets out a small sigh, just soft enough to make Hunter bite the inside of his cheek.

It's not like this was the first time Shawn had done this. Even in the ring, or during promos, Shawn was always holding onto Hunter in some way, freely giving hugs whenever the mood struck him. And that was when he was relatively sober. Under the influence like this, Hunter has more than once woken up in the middle of the night, sweating from the heat of Shawn's entire body wrapped around him, having crawled into his bed.

On one hand, Hunter is glad Shawn comes to him when he's less than sober, but on the other hand, Hunter hates his life sometimes. It's nearly impossible to not do something when Shawn drapes himself over him, voice rough and drawling, hands wandering and body pliant. He decides to take it as a form of training, of mental hardening, because doing nothing while Shawn nestles into his neck and entwines his legs with Hunter's is probably one of the unknown levels of hell.

The show changes to a commercial, and Shawn, bored, flips onto Hunter, looking for attention, probably. His elbow juts against Hunter's fresh stitches under the gauze bandage while he adjusts himself, and the following sudden burst of pain makes Hunter's vision go white.

It feels like a knife plunging deep into his side, a knife that was on fire. He starts coughing, hacking, and leans over the side of the bed, putting down his beer, knocking over an empty can in the process. He can register Shawn's panicked voice behind him, but it takes a little bit before he can understand or respond.

"Hunter, oh, God, I'm sorry, kid, fuck, are you alright? Jesus, Hunter, I'm sorry, I didn' mean it."

Hunter just wants to curl up on his side but he stops himself. When he looks up to smile at Shawn, he has no clue what expression he's actually making. "It's alright, it's cool."

"No, fuck, Hunter," Shawn looks more distraught than Hunter remembers him ever being. He doesn't know how much of that is from the alcohol. "I'm sorry, lemme make it up to you."

"What, with more booze?" Hunter thought he was being funny, but Shawn gives him a drunken frown.

"Lemme kiss it better," says Shawn. Hunter doesn't reach out his hand in time to stop him. 

The moment Shawn's lips touch Hunter's waist, his breath hitches, his heart stops, and the inebriated wires in Hunter's brain connects to make his dick hard. He shouldn't be turned on from something as unsexy as this, he's still in pain, God dammit, but Shawn is taking a  _really long time_  kissing his wound.

Hunter's actually almost afraid that Shawn will start making out with it, so he pulls him off quickly. Shawn's beer tumbles out of his hand, hits the ground, and Shawn whines at the loss of alcohol.

"I said it's fine, Shawn." Did that come out alright? Was his voice too breathless? Fuck.

"It's my job, H," he drapes himself across Hunter again as he speaks, and this is not doing  _anything_  for Hunter's hard on. "I gotta make sure you're okay. We're best friends, right?"

Too many thoughts rush through Hunter's mind at once, and he's far too impaired to process them all properly, to make sure he weeds out the bad ones, which is probably the reason why he doesn't instantly excuse himself to go to the bathroom. It might also be why that, instead of removing himself from the situation, Hunter instead wrapped an arm around Shawn's back and licked his lips.

"'M not okay, Shawn," Hunter says, and he knows he's not sober. "You messed me up."

Shawn's face crumbles into a mix of pouting and concern. "What'd I do? You want another kiss?"

"Yeah," the word is out and Hunter doesn't even notice at first that it came from him.

Shawn props himself up on his hands, leaning over Hunter, Hunter's arm is still around his back, and his hand goes to to Shawn's hair, his head, and he pulls him in.

The kiss is sloppy. They're drunk or sleepy, who cares, Shawn is at an angle, and Hunter knocks their teeth together more than once. But Shawn doesn't seem to care. He breaks it to kiss Hunter's neck and straddle him, the motion fluid and practiced. It only serves to make Hunter's dick even harder, straining against his jeans.

When Hunter finally pulls back, he thinks his lips are bruised and Shawn smoothly pulls off his shirt, eyes hooded. He's seen Shawn without his shirt thousands of times, for sane, responsible, and understandable reasons, but this time it gives him a thrill, a pound in his chest and a shiver down his back. Shawn leans forward to kiss him again, pressing the golden lines of his body against Hunter's entirely.

Shawn's hands are in his hair, tangled, and Hunter's hands are on Shawn's back, feeling his muscles tighten and relax as Shawn ruts himself against Hunter's hips, which surprises Hunter, but not enough to stop him from tasting the inside of Shawn's slick mouth. He's better than he imagined, or maybe just as good as he imagined, Hunter can't really figure that out while Shawn's breathing against him, hot and unhampered.

He pulls away, and Hunter can see Shawn's lips, red and swollen, slick with spit, parted slightly. He watches them move when Shawn talks.

"This good?" Shawn asks, and it's both the sexiest thing Hunter's heard and the most casual voice he could imagine in this situation, like they hadn't just had one of the best make out sessions of Hunter's life.

"Yeah," Hunter said, voice breathless. "'S good."

Shawn chortles, his hands going down to the hemline of Hunter's shirt. "Wanna help me out?"

Hunter almost rips the shirt off of himself, forgetting what looks sexy and what doesn't, but his enthusiasm at least entertains Shawn, who is smiling when he goes down to suck on Hunter's nipple.

It's a sharp jolt, and Hunter wonders when the hell they got so sensitive. Shawn's using all teeth, clearly not caring about leaving marks behind, but Hunter can't bring himself to tell him to stop when the feeling of Shawn biting down slightly, sucking and licking, makes his inner thighs twitch and cock throb. He brings his hand up to hold onto Shawn's hair, onto something so that he doesn't come instantly.

Hunter can tell Shawn's having a fun time, because he's smiling when he comes back up to kiss Hunter's lips, and it's less sloppy than before, which sets Hunter's nerves ablaze. Shawn's  _kissing_  him, kissing  _him_ , even if this were an accident and a mistake, Shawn is enough in the moment that he can focus, and  _he's kissing him_.

"Do y'know what to do?" Shawn asks, and Hunter can hear his belt unbuckling. "With dudes, I mean."

Hunter's nothing near a virgin, but the most experience he had with men was him jerking off frantically in a bathroom to Shawn's exceptionally tight ass towards the end of a tour. His pride tells him to lie and say of course, but he honestly has no fucking clue and doesn't want to mess it up, so instead he just stays quiet.  Shawn knows him well enough, so he gets to work on undoing Hunter's pants.

"It's alright, man," he says, and every brush of his knuckle over the strain in Hunter's jeans makes Hunter's fists on the mattress ball up tighter. "I'll help you out."

Without warning, or maybe with more warning than Hunter could process, Shawn grabs Hunter's hips and licks the length of his cock through his underwear, which is pulled taut to the point of bursting.

" _Holy shit,_ " Hunter hears himself say, and Shawn's arm strength is the only thing keeping Hunter from bucking up into his mouth. It's only through cloth, not even flesh to flesh, but the sensation is intense and Hunter wonders why all blowjobs don't feel like this.

Once the front of his boxers is soaked in spit and pre-cum, and Hunter thinks that he might die, Shawn pulls it down. His dick springs up, hitting his stomach, twitching and sensitive, and Shawn pulls off the rest of Hunter's clothes, dumping it unceremoniously on the ground.

Shawn doesn't say a word before his mouth is on Hunter's dick, taking him halfway down without any effort. The noise Hunter hears himself make is totally foreign to him, as is the heat of the back of Shawn's throat on the head of his dick. He took him deep and held him there, swallowing repeatedly and letting out little moans when Hunter grabs his hair and tightens his fist, looking for something in this realm to keep him stable.

Shawn pulls back to tongue Hunter's slit and kiss the head, licking all up the base, letting spit drip freely down Hunter's cock. His hands are still holding down Hunter's hips, since with every new movement, Hunter feels himself thrusting up, toes curling and breath hitching. Right as Hunter was starting to feel oversensitive, Shawn goes back down again and creates a perfected rhythm, taking Hunter almost entirely down his throat and coming back up for air.

When Hunter finally feels the edge approaching and the weight deep in his stomach, he manages to force out a gasped "I'm close", and Shawn gives Hunter three more deep thrusts into that perfect mouth before Hunter came so hard he forgets his name. He feels the waves going deep into Shawn's throat, who doesn't even make a show of swallowing it all.

There's a little bit of time where Hunter is just trying to regain feeling in his fingertips, and Shawn strips himself down to nothing as well. Hunter's brain races — should he say something, what should he say, what should he do, did he fuck up — but Shawn does enough talking for the both of them.

"Wanna have a go?" he says, and Hunter's seen Shawn's dick before, but watching it bob and curve towards his stomach is already making him hard again. He's on his knees, straddling Hunter, his thighs against Hunter's hips, his ass inches away from Hunter's cock.

"Uh." Hunter eloquently replies.

Shawn laughs again, still so himself. "You don't have to suck my dick, you just have to do what you always do."

It's embarrassing how long it takes for Hunter to connect the dots, and when he does, he wonders if that match was more brutal than he thought, if he was maybe hallucinating, or maybe he died.

"Can — can I?"

"Yeah," Shawn grins, and he's back to kissing Hunter, tongue and teeth and hands and warmth.

When he presses his hips against Hunter's again, like before, it's impossibly more intense, all of the cloth gone, just heat against heat. When Shawn snaps his hips in a slow, searching roll against the throbbing pressure, Hunter loses his breath. His hands scramble across his back, aching, clenching, rough.

He suddenly realizes that he can finally do what he's always wanted to do, what he's thought about for years, shoved away in silence and ashamedly entertained in the dark. He grips Shawn's ass, his large hands barely fitting over all of it, and grasps him tight, feeling the soft muscle on his palm. Shawn's next kiss is breathier, firmer, enough encouragement for Hunter to do it again, to hold onto him and guide his hips down, against Hunter's ache.

Shawn's face isn't one Hunter's ever seen before, desperate, feverish, pleading. He keeps watching him as they push each other, Hunter's own mouth hanging open when Shawn starts to let out little gasps and grips Hunter's bicep so tight his nails leave little crescent marks.

Two hands on his chest stops Hunter from moving, and Shawn pushes himself up, his face a dark red, bright and hot. "Fingers," he says, and Hunters eyes widen. "Give me your fingers."

Hunter lets go of Shawn's ass to present his hand, which Shawn grasps with both of his — were his hands always that much smaller than Hunters? — and takes Hunter's index and middle finger deep into his mouth. It's amazing how hot this is, Hunter thinks, his dick is already hard again and ready for a round two. Shawn's tongue is deft, agile, his mouth is so hot, and when he takes the digits out, they're dripping with spit. Hunter can remember a time when he thought this would be gross, but right now he's certain this is why he was born.

"It has to go inside," Shawn says, and he moves closer the Hunter, bringing his ass up higher. "Should be clean, don't worry about it."

Hunter rests his clean hand on the small of Shawn's back, holding him while his other hand slid between his cheeks, searching. Shawn lets out a moan when Hunter finds the puckered hole, already twitching in anticipation, and he carefully presses one finger inside. The tension is incredible, Hunter didn't even know if he could get it all in, but sure enough, it slides in. Everything is pressure, his finger wriggles around in the slick heat, and he wonders how on earth he'll get his entire dick in there.

But Shawn knows what he's doing, he presses his face against Hunter's neck and whines, "More, dammit."

Hunter pushes in his other finger, and Shawn breathes out a low curse, shifting his hips anxiously. Hunter can feel Shawn clench around him when he wiggled his fingers again, experimentally searching. He presses against the walls, noting how some spots make Shawn's shoulders twitch, how others have him shifting for more friction, how the light kisses he leaves on Shawn's collarbone makes his breathing stutter.

He brings the two fingers in and out, slowly, wondering where the line is, how far he can go before Shawn stopped him, or before he blows his load. He knows this is probably to stretch him out, to prepare him for the main course, but hearing Shawn's soft gasps and mewls makes his brain turn into white noise.

Finally, after too long, and before he expected it, Shawn pushes himself up again, only managing to get inches away from Hunter's face before he says, voice raw and body trembling, "I'm good now."

Shawn reaches back to pull Hunter's hand out, and he wipes them on the bed while Shawn moves down on his hips, hands flat against Hunter's stomach, cock weeping from the stimulation. He guides Hunter's hand back down, to grip his cock at the base, holding it up straight and steady for Shawn to sink down on, sweet and smooth.

Hunter had been expecting something — something different, but the glide was so smooth and so incredible that he pushed his head back onto the headboard. He couldn't do anything but focus on the sensation of Shawn's ass, on Shawn's smile, on Shawn. It was everything he imagined, jacking off in the toilet, but nothing he could've imagined, the smell of Shawn and him becoming one, the racing pulse just under his skin.

"There you go, baby," Shawn says, words falling out of his mouth. "Real easy, ain't it? You're doin' so good."

And the entirety of his cock was deep inside Shawn, his legs spread and everything visible, completely vulnerable, and he was fucking smiling. "So good, so goddamn good, baby." Shawn's soft stream of praise and the impossible heat of him around Hunter's cock was so fucking good that his eyes wanted to roll back into his skull.

Hunter has no clue how long he'll last when Shawn starts moving, slowly, carefully, rolling his hips back and forth. The pace is Shawn's, not his, all he can do was hold onto Shawn's hips and press himself against the headboard, mouth open, chest heaving. There's so much, but Hunter can't process it, can't think past Shawn, Shawn,  _Shawn_ , his voice, his breath, his existence. They aren't anywhere, anyone, it's just them, together. He thrusts up into Shawn, meeting him as he presses down, feeling the pressure in his gut build and the knot in his chest unravel.

"Goddamn, baby, you're so fucking thick," Hunter can't tell if Shawn even knows he's speaking, but the words are aching, pure filth and affection. "You're filling me up, you're so good, Jesus, fuck." 

Shawn eventually puts all his weight on his hands, on Hunter's stomach, and raises himself up high to slam himself back down, taking all of Hunter's fat cock in one go, and he fucking repeats it, over and over, until he can't even keep his own mouth closed. His words jumble into nonsense, just sound, and Hunter's hands on Shawn's hips are so tight he wonders if they'll bruise, if anyone will see.

Hunter's thighs are twitching, and his toes curl, and he can feel himself getting close, he can feel himself losing his breath, he can't focus on any one thing. Did coming always feel this good? Is it Shawn? Is it him? Hunter lets out a moan, a guttural noise straight from his guts, and his hands become a vice on Shawn.

"That's good, baby, just a little bit more, a little bit more for me," Shawn's voice is almost the last straw for Hunter, who can't keep his grip on reality anymore, a high pitched whine dripping with pleasure. "I'm so close, fuck, a little more."

His orgasm feels like a truck hitting him, everything whites out and his lips go numb. There's just too much, too much of everything, and all he has to bring him back to reality is the feeling of heat and friction, of Shawn's loud 'fuck' cutting off suddenly and his hands balling up into fists on Hunter's chest.

Hot come splashes on Hunter's stomach, which he surprisingly couldn't give less of a shit about. Shawn slows to a stop, and Hunter can feel their bodies twitching, coming down from possibly the best fuck he'll have in his entire life. Inside Shawn, everything felt so hot and wet, even more than before. On the outside, Shawn's eyes were glassy, sweat and spit mixing and running down his neck.

"Fuck," Shawn pants out. He lies down on Hunter's wide chest, gasping for air. "That was good."

Hunter could only make a strangled noise that he hoped Shawn would take as an agreement. He brought a hand down to where they were still connected, touches the split lightly, and he feels Shawn's body shiver. It's the greatest effort in the world to get Shawn up and off of Hunter, come leaking out and dripping down his thigh.

There's a distant noise, and Hunter notices that the TV had been left on, so he turns it off. Shawn collapses directly into the pillows, his thighs still trembling from the activity. Hunter can't blame him for being so exhausted, he also just wants to close his eyes and never wake up again.

"Gonna be hell scrapin' this shit offa me when I wake up," Shawn sighs into the pillow, but he doesn't shift from his position.

Hunter doesn't know what to do or say, so he just turns off the light, rolls onto his side, and pulls Shawn in close. Normally he puts the effort into making sure they sleep in separate beds, but Hunter figures that boundary is probably long gone, and he doesn't want to, anyway. He doesn't want to do anything, not clean himself up, not even bring the covers over them. Shawn's and his bodies fit together perfectly as they spoon, like a dream, and the warm weight in his arms feels so cosmically impossible, that it has to be an accident. 

Shawn's snoring before Hunter's heart even calms down, so he buries his face into Shawn's hair and closes his eyes.

 ---

Hunter wakes up first, as he always did. An entire childhood of prompt breakfasts and bedtimes gave his internal clock fantastic practice, and Shawn was usually up until the sun began to rise, anyway.

They haven't moved from the position they fell asleep in, except Shawn had apparently grabbed the balled up covers and pulled it over him in the middle of the night. Hunter felt a gross crustiness on his stomach, between his legs, on his fingers, but he stays in bed for a while longer regardless.

Shawn was always the physically affectionate type, Hunter knows, and, well... Pretty loose. Before they had even met face to face, Hunter knew Shawn had a name for himself in the locker room. But Shawn never showed that around him. Drugs and alcohol was one thing, but since D-X and rooming together, the one between them getting the most action had always been Hunter, who would call Chyna in for a long night after a Pay-Per-View or just for fun. Shawn managed to keep things in his pants as far as Hunter could tell. And he could never figure out why.

At first he thought it was because those rumours were all a lie, but after last night... Hunter entertains the idea that Shawn actually did like him, that the affection he showed wasn't just platonic. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Hunter had been such a fool for thinking anything otherwise, for keeping himself from lavishing the love and affection onto Shawn that he had wanted to.

Hunter's getting out of the shower when he sees Shawn awake, flipping through the TV channels again. He panics about what to say before Shawn cuts his train of thought off with a grin, so normal and familiar.

"You get breakfast yet?" he asked, without a hint of awkwardness.

Hunter hopes he does a good job of hiding his thoughts when he replies. "Not yet. Don't think this hotel has any."

Shawn hops off the bed, and Hunter realizes he still hasn't put on any clothes. Casually, Shawn strolls over to the bathroom, pats Hunter on the back, and closes the door behind him, leaving his partner alone.

Hunter tries to busy himself with putting away the dirty clothes and getting out new ones to wear, daily morning routines, trying to focus. If he starts to think too hard, he begins to worry that he might've annoyed Shawn last night, or — or whatever.

But that's ridiculous. Shawn's not the kind of guy to do that to Hunter. Their bond is so much stronger than that. They go through hell together every week in that ring, and Shawn has put so much on the line for Hunter's career. It's alright, Hunter tells himself, you're just being paranoid, or self-conscious, but it's alright. Shawn cares about you more than you thought, and that's a fact.

Shawn finishes his shower and comes out to grab clothes, and Hunter doesn't have a chance to tell Shawn how he feels. Once he's dressed, Shawn grabs the rest of the beers and liquor in the mini fridge and dumps it all into his backpack, assuring Hunter that the bill would be on Vince. Hunter tries to hold him, to let them have a moment of relaxation, but Shawn pulls away from the touch.

"We can hug when we get breakfast, Hunter," Shawn laughs. Hunter has no idea how he can't hear his heartbeat. "Let's get outta here, already."

Hunter, the pack mule, carries everything down to the rental car while Shawn checks them out. This time around, Hunter is driving, and he makes sure the radio station is on something non intrusive, something safe. He almost feels like it's a first date, rather than a morning after. Chyna had lower standards, every other relationship in his life never went anywhere deeper than his parent's money. Hunter fists are tight on the steering wheel.

Once Shawn is back in the car, with a pamphlet map of the city and a list of diners for breakfast, they head out, Hunter trying to keep it cool and focus on driving while Shawn fumbles with the map and gives terrible instructions.

They have to get on the highway for a bit, so Shawn drops the map and changes the radio station for a while, but after only encountering commercials, he turns it off in frustration. The sound of the engine goes from white noise to the only thing Hunter can think of, and he can't keep it in anymore.

"Hey, Shawn," he starts. When Shawn looks at him it's completely natural. "What was..."

He trails off, not having thought about his words before he spoke. He has so many things he wants to ask — what was last night, what do I mean to you, how long did you like me back, what does this mean for us — but it all gets stuck at the knot in his lungs.

Shawn starts to look awkward, for the first time in a long time. He scratches right above the bandage on his forehead. "H," he says, and Hunter keeps his eyes on the road. "I just don't wanna mess with your head or anything like that, alright?"

The knot in Hunter's chest feels as if it were growing bigger, tying up his blood veins, encompassing everything. "No, it's cool."

"Don't think too much about it. It was really fuckin' fun, but," Shawn looks out the window, and Hunter thinks dark thoughts. "That's all it was, alright?"

"I got it, man," Hunter says. "I'm not gonna stop being your friend."

Shawn looks back over to Hunter, and the relief on his face makes Hunter grip the steering wheel tightly. He punches his shoulder lightly, platonically. "Glad to know."

They keep driving, Shawn's eyes peeled for the exit to the diner, Hunter's mind focused only on what was in front of him. He doesn't speak anymore, feels the dark mass in his chest grow, thrive, and he lets the constant droning of the engine drown out the pain caused by the weight of memories.


End file.
